Gratitude Is A Species Of

I Am Always Sorry When Any Language Is Lost, Because Languages Are The Pedigrees Of Nations.

He That Condemns Himself To Compose On A Stated Day Will Often Bring To His Task Attention Dissipated, A Memory Embarrassed, An Imagination Overwhelmed, A Mind Distracted With Anxieties, A Body Languishing With Disease: He Will Labour On A Barren Topic Till It Is Too Late To Change It; Or, In The Ardour Of Invention, Diffuse His Thoughts Into Wild Exuberance, Which The Pressing Hour Of Publication Cannot Suffer Judgment To Examine Or Reduce.

Though The Wisdom Or Virtue Of One Can Very Rarely Make Many Happy, The Folly Or Vice Of One Man Often Make Many Miserable.

It Is More From Carelessness About Truth Than From Intentionally Lying That There Is So Much Falsehood In The World.

We Seldom Require More To The Happiness Of The Present Hour Than To Surpass Him That Stands Next Before Us.